Circumlocution
by Gabi Howard
Summary: A collection of drabbles, ficlets and poems inspired by one-word prompts. Chapter 14- Opposite
1. Written

**Written**

--

_adjective: set down in writing in any of various ways_

--

Sachiko was woken by a soft creak, which she vaguely recognized as that of her bedroom door opening. Still she did not open her eyes, trusting that whoever it was (most likely Soichiro) would leave quickly and quietly, needing no response from her.

_Thump._

_Scratch._

_Slither._

She frowned slightly at the noises, opening her eyes a slit to see a tiny, one-and-a-half year old head peeking over the edge of the bed at her. Light was balanced precariously on the slats extending out from the mattress, his chubby fists grasping the covers and his face creasing in concentration as he tried not to fall backwards.

Sachiko chuckled softly and extended her hand towards him. "Here, my darling." She crooned. "Let's get you up safe." Her arms were weak, but it was still only the work of a few moments to pull Light up onto the bed beside her. He smiled, pulling the book he'd placed onto the bed beforehand up as he snuggled under the duvet beside her.

"You want me to read you a story?"

Light nodded. "Yes please." He opened the book, pointing at a page illustrated with pictures of a glorious autumn day before sticking his thumb in his mouth. Sachiko smiled.

"Alright." She shifted so that she was in a slightly better position to read and began, her fingers tracing a line beneath the words as Light listened. He watched her with wide eyes and curled up in his dark blue sleepsuit, looking the picture of childish innocence as she read.

The story came to an end and Sachiko yawned, feeling tired despite the amount of time she'd been spending in her bed of late. Light looked up at her, evidently worried.

"'Kaa-san, are you alright?" He yelped as Sachiko ruffled his hair in response, intensely proud of her son's ability to speak so well at such a young age.

"I'm fine, sweetheart." She reassured him. "Just a little sleepy."

Light frowned, unconvinced. "Is it the baby's fault?" He cast a glance down at his mother's swollen belly. This time, Sachiko frowned a little as well.

"No, Light. It isn't the baby's fault. Mummy's just not feeling very well, that's all."

They were interrupted by the sound of the front door unlocking. Sachiko eased herself back onto the mattress fully and ruffled her son's hair, all discomfort forgotten as he yelped indignantly.

"'Kaa-san!"

"Go say hello to your Dad," She laughed. Light smiled at her, working his way out from under the covers. "Ah- you're forgetting something!" Sachiko chided gently. Light paused for a moment, then turned and gave her a quick kiss on the cheek. "That's better."

As her son skipped from the room, Sachiko began to wonder. Not even two years old, and he already showed more intelligence than many of the neighbours' children did at twice his age.

"_What will become of you, Light, my darling?"_

--

Soichiro toed off his shoes as he stepped inside. He set down his briefcase and spent a moment waiting for his coat to be taken before he remembered that Sachiko was resting. Her pregnancy had taken its toll on her- she needed all the sleep she could get. So he hung his own coat up, and was about to get some coffee brewing when a small voice called from the top of the stairs.

"'Tou-san?"

He smiled. His son was living up to his name- precocious and happy, forever bringing a smile to everyone's face.

"Hello Light. Do you want to get downstairs?"

"Yes."

It helped that he was clever, too, with a grasp of Japanese that never failed to surprise his parents. Soichiro chuckled as he strode up the stairs. Light was waiting for him at the top, clutching a storybook almost as big as he was as he stood with his thumb in his mouth.

"Thumb out of that mouth, young man." Soichiro instructed, gently tugging the appendage out. Light pouted, then lifted up his arms to be held. His father smiled down at him, and he copied the expression. "That's better." Soichiro lifted him easily, uncaring of the book which gently slapped into his arm as he did so. Light held it up as they descended the stairs, pointing at it in a way which clearly showed he wanted to be read to. "One moment, Light. Wait until we're sat down."

As they read, it was Light who traced the words with a pudgy finger, slipping his thumb into his mouth out of habit. Again Soichiro tugged it away, and again the child pouted, though it had no effect.

Later, after Light fell asleep in the crook of his arm, Soichiro leaned over to pick up a book on child development. After scanning it for a few moments, he placed it aside again, holding his son a little closer as he mused;

"_What on earth did we do to deserve a genius like this for a child?"_

--

Years later, standing in the taskforce headquarters, Soichiro realised it wasn't something they'd deserved. It was a gift, a loan, and he was paying it off right now as he watched his beloved son spiral into madness before his eyes. As everyone present saw his name written out in a death-dealing hand.

Sachiko never knew her son was killed at the whim of a Death God and a few words on paper.

He certainly wasn't going to tell her.

--

**Author's Note: **In case you hadn't guessed, that was filmverse. I'd already written this when I heard that the Death Note Movie premiere was on tonight. I'm still not sure exactly what premiere this is, but this is in honour of it. -laughs-

There will be more- not necessarily film-based (actually, more filmverse is unlikely unless I'm very inspired to write one). Should hopefully be at least 49, with various oneshots and story arcs coming into play, as I've said in the summary, and I'd like to know what you think of it so far. (hint, hint)


	2. Insight

**Insight**

--

_noun: penetrating mental vision or discernment_

--

I've got a secret.

I'll share it, if you like.

You see Annie over there by the pond?

Always Anonymous is your name for her, I know.

That's the first part of the secret- her name.

She won't ever get to be your heir.

You'll outlive her, L, by quite a few years.

But swear to me you'll never tell.

Because I know...

You look a little stunned.

Is it really that surprising?

She's cracking already, anyone can see that.

Oh, I get it.

You're surprised that I know.

And you want to know how I know.

Well, I shan't tell you.

But I know when you die too.

Remember, remember the fifth of November, L.

Come 2004, it will be a bad day for you.

Not that you'll live to tell the tale.

Are you scared?

Quaking in your boots?

No?

...good.

I love Halloween, don't you?

It's so, so much fun.

Happy birthday, L.

You've only got seven left.

--

**Author's Note:** That was B, in case anyone was confused. I love him so, him and his twisted, twisted ways. Well, I figured I needed to bring him in somewhere, and since it's L's birthday (or will be in a couple of weeks), well... –grins-

Happy birthday, L-san. I know it's a bit early, but there we go.

--


	3. Snack

**Snack**

--

_noun: a small portion of food or drink or a light meal, esp. one eaten between regular meals._

--

It was 1:36 a.m., and all was quiet in the investigation headquarters besides the tapping of keys and computer mouses. Light Yagami stretched, stifling a yawn behind his hand. What little sleep he'd had in the past forty-eight hours had been had sitting in the same chair he was in now and his body was complaining rather insistently as a result.

Something tugged the chain and Light frowned, irritated, as the cuff dug into his wrist.

"Light-kun." He looked over at the detective, who stood staring at him, his black eyes impassive as ever.

"What is it, Ryuuzaki?"

"I need more cake."

Light sighed. "Can't Watari get it for you?"

"He could, but Light-kun appears to be nodding off. A walk will do him some good." L turned, not even waiting for a response. Light shook his head.

"_Sleep_ would do me some good, you overgrown, insomniacal panda..." He muttered, trailing reluctantly towards the kitchen nonetheless.

Once there, L's pace seemed to quicken and his eyes became a fraction wider as he hurried over to the fridge. Light yawned again, this time only just remembering to cover it with a hand. Fighting to keep his eyes open, he barely noticed when L stiffened.

"Light-kun..." the horrified whisper caught his attention instantly.

"What is it?" he demanded, hesitant to go over and see what it was in the fridge that was causing the greatest detective in the world such distress. He took a step forward, reaching out a hand to drag the fridge door round.

What he saw surprised him, to say the least.

It was a perfectly normal fridge interior. Light raised an eyebrow.

"L, what...?"

"There's no _cake!_"

Light blinked. Then sweatdropped.

"No cake, Ryuuzaki?" L shook his head mutely in response, still looking horrified. "So then what are you going to eat?"

No reply. The detective stood still, staring into the fridge. Light waved a hand in front of his face. "Ryuuzaki? Are you alright?"

Still no reply. "Is this all because you've eaten all the cake? What is this to you, some form of anaphylactic shock?"

...

Light sighed. Desperate times called for desperate measures. "Alright then- since you don't seem to be snapping out of it, I guess I won't be able to make you another..."

GLOMP!

"...one?" Light finished, blinking up at L from his new position on the floor. The older man was straddling him, the expression in his eyes more than a little unnerving as he stared at him.

"Light-kun knows how to bake a cake?" He sounded like a child who'd been told Christmas had been rescheduled to tomorrow.

"Well, sort of. My mum insisted I knew how to cook, and cake was a fairly easy recipe to learn." Light moved to get up, but L did not budge. "Ryuuzaki?"

"Hmm?" He was still staring at him- now it was downright creepy.

"Get off."

"Oh- of course." He hopped off Light, who pulled himself up, rubbing his eyes tiredly.

"The things I put up with..."

"Pardon?"

"Nothing." He yawned, pulling a box of eggs out of the cupboard as L perched himself on a nearby stool. "Where are the bowls?"

L shrugged. "I have no idea- I never cook, so I wouldn't know."

Light rolled his eyes, rummaging through the nearby cupboards. "Fat lot of good you are."

"Light-kun appears to need glasses- I am hardly..."

"Figure of speech, Ryuuzaki." The next few moments were passed in a comfortable silence, broken only by the intermittent thunks of cupboard doors being closed. Finally, Light found the cupboard with the plates and bowls. He plucked three of the bowls down and closed the counter with his elbow as he balanced them on his arms. A moment's careful balancing later, he slipped them onto the counter beside the stove and began rummaging through the fridge for eggs and butter.

He ignored the soft noises of L moving around, but when he returned to the bowls, a bag of flour and two bags of sugar sat beside them. He turned to see L with a third sugar bag, unashamedly dipping his hand into it and pouring the stuff directly into his mouth. Light winced internally- how anyone could eat that was beyond him.

"I thought you said you didn't know where things were in here?"

L shrugged. "Actually, I have a reasonable idea. I merely wished to see what you would do if I refused to help you

Light blinked. _Annoying bastard..._ "Why, exactly?"

"No reason." There was a moment's pause while Light attempted to quash his annoyance.

"Well, thankyou." He turned back to the counter. "I don't suppose you know where the scales are?"

"Cupboard to the right of the sink, along with the sieve." Light nodded in response and the silence from before resumed as he grabbed said objects and began measuring out ingredients. That done, he began tapping flour through the sieve and into the bowl. A few moments passed before there was a rustle from beside him, and he looked over to see L pouring the sugar into the bowl. The detective smiled at him and Light managed a quick smile back before turning back to the flour.

The sugar bowl emptied and he expected L to go back to his earlier position on the barstool. Instead, the older man picked up the open sugar bag and raised it above the bowl.

"What are you doing? The recipe only needs 200 grammes."

L shrugged again. "The recipe is for people like Light-kun, who would not know good food if it..." Realising the sugar bag's entire contents were about to go into his cake, Light gave him a shove backwards, effectively cutting him off as he stumbled backwards. The sugar spiralled out of the bag, covering the detective and sprinkling Light in a shower of white granules.

The two of them stood for a moment, then L lifted his arm and began licking the sugar off his sleeve. Light grimaced.

"What on earth are you doing?" He asked again. L stared at him like he was mad.

"Good sugar should not go to waste, Light-kun. But since you seem to be so determined to allow it to do so, then perhaps I shall join in with your efforts." Before Light could respond, L picked up the sugar bag on the table, pulled it open and threw it over him with a deft flick of the wrist. Light gasped as the grains wormed their way down his back and ears. He grabbed the butter, and L's eyes widened as he realised what was about to happen. He leapt forward as Light opened the packet, causing them both to fall to the floor, the butter squashed between them covering both their fronts.

L picked himself up and held out a hand to Light, who took it. A moment later, he was on his feet, staring down at his butter-saturated shirt in dismay.

"That's never going to come out." L looked at him for a moment, then down at his own top, which was in a similar condition. Seeming to come to a decision, he pulled it off and, with a thoroughly stunned Light watching him, dumped it in the bin. He turned to the younger boy and cocked his head slightly.

"Light-kun appears to be surprised."

_No shit, Sherlock. _Light blinked at him for a moment before regaining the power of speech. "Unless I'm very much mistaken, people don't normally tend to just pull their shirts off in the kitchen, Ryuuzaki."

L raised an eyebrow at him, an impish grin spreading across his face. "They do in Light-kun's magazines."

"What... oh." Light coloured slightly at the memory of the magazines he'd been reading a few months ago (why exactly he'd bought them was beyond him- another of the mysteries of the past year or so he was determinedly trying to ignore).

"You knew about the cameras, then." L mused, mooching back over to the bowl. "That's very observant of you, Light-kun. They were well-hidden, after all." He pulled open the final sugar bag. "Out of interest, how did you work out they were there?"

Light shrugged, uncaring of the amount of sugar L was now pouring into the cake mix. "I knew someone had been in my room, that it hadn't been anyone in my family and that they were trying to make sure I didn't know they'd been there."

"And how did you know that?" L queried, throwing the butter into the bowl as he turned to stare at Light. The question was greeted with silence, and L turned back to the bowl with a small sigh. "Up two percent, Light-kun."

"God, not that again!" Light snapped. "For the last time, L..."

"You are not Kira, I know. Or so you keep saying." He cracked an egg open inexpertly, watching in apparent helplessness as parts of the shell ran into the bowl along with the yolk. Light bit back a retort as he turned to help.

"Here, like this." He held the egg between middle finger and thumb and brought the knife down sharply through the shell. "If you could get the bits from the shell out..." L nodded and began delicately picking out the brownish fragments while Light emptied the egg in his hand. As he reached for the next one, he heard a yelp as L slipped backwards on the sugar they'd left on the floor earlier. The detective grabbed at Light to stop himself going down, but only succeeded in ripping the younger man's shirt.

L stood, rubbing his read end ruefully as he glanced at Light. "I apologise for that, Light-kun. It seems your shirt is truly irredeemable."

Light managed to stop himself from asking L exactly whose fault he thought that was, opting instead to copy him and remove the shirt. He sighed. The butter sticking it to his skin had been getting annoying, but it had been rather expensive and it was a shame to lose it. He tucked it into the bin and elected to make light of it, no pun intended.

"Don't worry about it- I can always get another one." Well, it was half-true, though he likely wouldn't bother. He turned to see L gingerly picking up an egg, to which he raised an eyebrow.

L returned the gesture. "I believe I know the correct procedure to involve minimum addition of eggshell to the mixture, although if Light-kun wishes to continue with the job, then he may." Light shook his head, jumping up to sit on the counter as L cracked another egg into the bowl. "And may I say, Light-kun has a very fine torso."

Light blinked. That... was unexpected.

"Erm... thanks." L nodded in response. A moment's silence, then:

"You know, it's polite to give a compliment in return when one is received."

"I... well, I..." Light searched for something to say. In truth, L hardly looked too bad either, hair and eye bags notwithstanding, but complimenting other men on their appearance wasn't something Light made a habit of doing. Instead, he took refuge in sarcasm: "Since when were you qualified to give tips on social interaction?"

L looked almost disappointed. "Up one percent, Yagami-kun."

And they were back to that again. Light was far, far too tired to protest, so he did the first thing that came to mind: grabbing a fistful of half-sloppy, half-dry cake mixture and hurling it at L's head. The detective gave an uncharacteristic yelp as the glop hit him, the powdery half exploding outwards and mingling with the slower-moving egg as it slid through his hair. A pale hand reached up to feel the damage and L's mouth opened in a small 'o' as he brought it away covered in goo.

"Yagami-kun..." That was the only warning Light got before the egg L was holding flew at him. He ducked instinctively, but was still hit and gasped as the chilled yolk slipped out of his hair and down the back of his neck. "Did Yagami-kun not like that?" the voice was dripping with faux-innocence. Light glared at L, who smirked back.

"And for that..." He picked up what was left of the egg packet, turned it upside down and whacked it over L's head. It was a comical sight- the egg flattening his ever-greasy hair as it slid outwards from the point of impact. Every so often, it would come across an eggshell and carry it along with it, said shell looking almost stately as it floated down before it fell to stick to L's shirt.

Moments later, a handful of cake mixture found its way down Light's front. The teen retaliated in kind and before long, a full-fledged food fight was on. L grabbed the bowl and ran behind the table, leaving Light to fend for himself as best he could with what he could scavenge from the fridge. Milk, oranges and tea bags flew wildly, to name but a few of the food types that found themselves receiving an impromptu flight lesson.

Laughing, his tiredness driven away by adrenaline, Light turned back to the fridge for more ammunition. He grabbed a packet of coloured writing icing, but as he stood to squirt it at his opponent, a handful of cake mix found its way into his left ear. He gave a shriek, turning in time for L to shove another handful into his face, taking great delight in smearing it across and into his hair. Eyes instinctively shut, he squirted the icing wildly in the direction of his opponent.

There was a moment's break in the fighting, and Light took advantage of it to wipe the floury, eggy mess off his face. Now able to see relatively well, he looked up. L was standing with a thoughtful look on his face, somehow having managed to grab one of the icing packets off Light at some point in the melee and now chewing on it as he looked around. "We seem to have made rather a mess of the kitchen, Light-kun."

"I would say you have, young man!" Both young men turned simultaneously, surprised to see Watari standing in the doorway. Light bit his lip, looking around and deciding that 'mess' didn't quite cover what they'd managed to create. _Chaos_ would be more appropriate, or something along those lines anyway. Various liquids dripped down the counters and fridge door, at the bottom of which a mixture of foods was beginning to congeal. The same was true of the surfaces, and Light smirked to see L's appearance. "Wipe that grin off your face, Master Yagami!"

Light obeyed, ducking his head apologetically before he noticed the amused edge of the elderly man's voice. He looked up- Watari's face was stern, but his eyes were twinkling, and you didn't have to know him as well as L did to see he was fighting a laugh.

"I apologise, Watari." Light raised an eyebrow at L's uncharacteristic chasteness.

"No you don't, L." Watari sighed, producing a mop and bucket from behind his back, "Go on, get started."

"What?" L blinked uncomprehendingly at the mop as Light stepped forward to take it. Watari did chuckle then, handing Light both mop and bucket.

"He's not used to this kind of thing." The older man confided, loud enough for L to hear. Light nodded- he'd guessed as much- then laughed aloud at the indignant look on L's face. The detective stormed forward, grabbed the mop and began sweeping the floor viciously. Watari joined in Light's mirth, patting the teen on the shoulder as he turned to leave. "Do show him how to use that properly. I dread to think how this might exacerbate if he continues like that."

With that, he left. There was a few moment's quiet as Light watched L, who was still attempting to use the mop as a brush of sorts, before going over to the sink to fill the bucket. He turned to see L watching him half-expectantly, half-desperately and decided to take pity on him. "Here- you make the cake, I'll get everything cleaned up."

L continued to stare, and Light was about to hand him the bucket when the mop was unceremoniously shoved towards him. L scurried across to the fridge before the teen could respond and perhaps change his mind, but Light merely raised an eyebrow, amused by the older man's eagerness.

"_Typical.'_

Still smiling, he began mopping the floor.

"Light-kun seems rather eager to keep everything clean. I now have a 13 percent suspicion that he is gay..."

"What?!"

-

Safely away from the havoc, Watari chuckled as he watched Light dump the bucket of now-dirty water over Lawliet's head.

It was a shame, really. Had the boy not been a Kira suspect, he liked to think they might have been very good friends, despite the unlikelihood of their ever meeting without the Kira case.

Old men were allowed to be sentimental, after all.

And with those pleasant thoughts running through his head, he settled back to watch the food fight unfold once more.

--

**Author's Note: **This started out as a short little piece about L's sugar fetishes, and somehow it's mutated into... well, this. I like it. I was a bit worried it would turn into outright romance- I'm really not good at writing it, though I'll give it a darn good go for the plot bunny Nilahxapiel was kind enough to let me use- but as it is, there's no yaoi unless you really, really squint.

And in case you were wondering, yes, it was inspired by the 'Havisham' scene- hence why I was worried it would end up as yaoi. And yes, 'Havisham' will be updated soon! Fear not, my darlings, for Gmail may be spazzily annoying, but it will not prevail!


	4. Clique

**Clique**

--

_noun: a small, exclusive group of people; coterie; set._

--

It was midnight over Gotham. All was quiet, until...

"Help! Help me!"

The terrified cries of a young woman rent the night as a man backed her down a dimly-lit alleyway, brandishing a knife which glinted menacingly in the lamplight. The woman shrieked again, striking out uselessly with her handbag.

The man only smirked in response. "Ain't nooo-one to hear you, sweetheart. You're all mine now!" he leered, the stench of alcohol rolling off his breath in waves as he raised the knife to strike...

BAM! It was snatched from his hand by three flying figures, leaving him gaping stupidly in response.

"Tan tara-ra-ra-_raaa!_ "

"Shut up, Mello! I'm trying to concentrate! "

"Shouldn't have brought the bloody game then, should you?"

"I'll have you know, Bionic Waricle III is..."

"I don't bloody care about bloody Bionic Waricle!" SLAP!

"Hey! I know you've got gender issues, but..."

SLAP!

PUNCH!

LEATHERY RUGBY TACKLE OF DOOM!

The woman sweatdropped.

The only dark shape not fighting sighed as it landed in front of her. "Sorry about those..."

"Hey! Wat'cha doin' wi' ma..." the drunken knife-man staggered forward, only to be met with the point of an umbrella in a place it was hardly designed to go. "AARGH!"

"Indeed." The shape nodded, satisfied, as it tucked the umbrella it had apparently produced from nowhere into a hidden fold in its suit. "Now, as I was saying, I apologise for the behaviour of my cohorts here. Gender-confusion issues, you know..."

"Who are you calling gender-confused, albino freak?" The dark shape that had trumpeted on entrance grabbed the smaller one by the collar, dragging him backwards and into the fight. The third shape took the chance to duck out of said melee, slouching over to the beleaguered woman and practically radiating annoyance.

"Sod broke my GameBoy." he muttered, lighting a cigarette. "I love the guy, but some days..." he shook his head. "But heck. I'm Matt, and I guess, since we came to rescue you, might as well get on with the job."

The man behind him staggered up with a drunken roar, but Matt didn't even turn- merely pulling the cigarette from his mouth and squashing it into the pockmarked nose behind him. "YEOW!"

"Not very articulate, is he?" The teen spoke as though he was at a social gathering, not beating up a drunk criminal in the dead of night. The woman just blinked in response, and the boy rolled his eyes as he turned to scavenge what he could of his GameBoy. "Always like this- only ever saying 'thanks' as we fly off, bloody ingrates..."

"YIEEE!" The voice was masculine (well, ish), but the pitch was very, very high. The blonde staggered away from the fight, cradling his groin.

"Ain't nobody that can stand up to the family-jewel-poke of Doom!" The white-haired boy grinned, stroking the umbrella fondly in a way that had every innuendo-dealing part of the woman's brain working double-time.

"And God help us all when Near feels like testing it." Muttered Matt.

"Hi." It was more of a wheeze than anything, the woman decided. Admittedly, the umbrella poking was the only thing reassuring her that this was indeed a male member of the species before her- his effeminate appearance had made her a little confused. She still didn't answer though.

Matt chucked a battery at the blonde's head. "Think she's mute."

"Not if those screams were anything to go by- the woman's a regular banshee. I reckon it's just my good looks." The voice was returning to a more normal pitch. Matt and Near snorted simultaneously.

"Ha."

"Winning one 'beautiful baby' contest as a child does not automatically make you a charmer, Mello." Near intoned, still stroking the umbrella. "I daresay it's quite the opposite, in fact."

"Hey!" Mello snapped as Matt doubled over laughing. "No need to bring that up!"

"There was _every_ need, Mellokins." Matt gasped, still chuckling.

"And for the last time..."

"Look out!" The woman cried, as her attacker rose once more from the ground where he'd been writhing from the pain of the combined cigarette and umbrella moves. He yelled again and Mello turned, but this time the woman got there first- smacking the man over the head with her really rather heavy bag.

"Ungh..." he sank to the floor in a crumpled heap. The three boys turned to stare at her.

"Self-defence classes. My dad made me take them." She explained. Mello raised an eyebrow.

"So why on earth were you so useless earlier?"

She shrugged. "I'd heard stories of a bunch of utterly useless caped crusaders flying around. Wanted to see if they were true, I guess." She laughed at the look on Mello and Matt's faces- Near disappointed, his visage stoically blank.

"And are they?"

She smirked. "Every one."

"Hmm. It appears we will have to conduct a mind wipe..."

"Hey!"

"...once we have carried this man to the local jail." Sayu glared at him.

"I don't want to be mind wiped!"

Near shrugged. "All part of the job. Up and away, gentlemen." The man on the floor was unceremoniously picked up by various parts of his clothing and the threesome flew off slowly, trailing him along behind. The woman watched as they became dim shapes once more amidst the night lights of the city then, as they flew over the jail, separating. The man fell, bounced off the wall and the woman could've sworn she heard a shouted curse as the three shapes flew down to catch him.

Well, that was them distracted. She didn't _really_ believe they could mindwipe her, but she wasn't about to stick around and find out.

With a grin and a small giggle, Sayu Yagami ran off into the darkness.

--

**Author's Note:** This started out as an idea for a really serious fic- honest to God, it did. But then I made the mistake of sending it to shirosunday, who twisted it beyond belief. But heck, I like it better that way. -grins- Thanks shiro!

The 'serious' fic idea will be posted on the Plot Bunny Exchange, since I know I'm never going to be able to write another DN/Batman crossover without sending it spiralling into madness once more. That said, there's likely to be another story in this vein somewhere along the line- keep your eyes peeled! I'm not giving Batman!Whammy Gang up yet!

That over with, I'm quite proud of myself. Three updates in as many days- yay!


	5. Intersection

**Intersection**

---

_noun: the place where two roads meet._

---

Snow was falling. Again.

Lawliet hated the stuff, to be perfectly honest. Back home in Germany, it had always meant the wearing of shoes of some kind, which he also despised (the fact that he was now having to wear them almost permanently was doing nothing to improve his outlook on the situation he was in). But if it fell at Christmas, the other soldiers became sentimentally happy. That made the part of his job that involved keeping morale up a little easier, so he supposed it couldn't be all that bad, and it was a change from the freezing rain that had dominated the weather thus far.

And the guns had stopped- apparently the Tommies had also decided that Christmas was cause enough to forget the war for a short while. Nobody would die today, and that too was good. Tomorrow, Christmas Day, the fragile peace would hopefully hold as well.

Hopefully.

He wouldn't put anything past the English.

-

Christmas Eve, and all was quiet on the Western front.

Light snorted. How clichéd that sounded- like something from a child's book, with chapters full of glorious cavalry rushes and fantastic, daring tales of adventure and courage.

No such thing here. Only a steady feed of death- already most of the British Expeditionary Forces he had left with mere months ago were lying dead in No Man's Land, their bodies decaying to feed the rats that crawled and slithered everywhere, muddy and diseased like everything else in this stinking hellhole the papers at home had the cheek to call 'The Great War'.

God, if his father could see him now. His letters had told of nothing explicit (the censors wouldn't have allowed it anyway), but Soichiro Yagami was not a stupid man. He was a diplomat, trained to read between the lines and Light was fairly sure he'd picked up on the bitterness that had tinged his correspondences home to the Japanese Embassy back in London. Indeed, his return letters had held a tone of mild surprise- he obviously hadn't expected any overriding emotion to be shown at all, especially since it wasn't Light's first war.

But no matter. Whether his _feelings_ had been picked up on or not, Light doubted he'd ever see his family again, so there would be no explaining to do when he got home.

Emotions had always bothered him, especially when they had to be shown.

-

"_Stille nacht, heilige nacht..."_

Lawliet rolled over, groggy from sleep as the strains of the badly-sung carol reached his ears. "What the hell?" He mumbled, struggling out from under the thin blanket and cursing when the ice-cold air wormed its way into every gap between his clothes and his skin. A young officer rushed in, saluting primly.

"Kommandant!" He barked.

"Leftenant Rolf, isn't it?" The man nodded his head so sharply Lawliet was almost worried he'd break his neck. "What is it, Leftenant?"

"Sir, the men are putting up Christmas trees!" Lawliet blinked at him for a moment.

"Beg pardon?"

"Christmas trees, sir! They're putting them up on the firing steps!"

A small part of Lawliet's mind wondered if the Leftenant was capable of speaking in anything other than a harsh bark as he grabbed his coat, racing outside to see his men laughing and waving their hats over the top of the trenches.

"What on earth do you think you're doing?" He demanded of a passing soldier whose name he didn't remember. The lad- he couldn't have been more than seventeen years, if that- grinned at him.

"It's Christmas, sir!"

"I know _that_. I mean, why are you putting up Christmas trees? Are you suicidal or just idiotic?"

"Nein, Kommandant- the Tommies are not shooting. Surely you realised that?"

Lawliet fought to restrain an eye roll. _I am surrounded by incompetents._

The song ended to cheers from the English lines. After a few moments, voices that were evidently more used to drinking songs burst into chorus.

"_The first Noel, the angels did say..."_

The singing was hardly as good a standard as his troops' had been, Lawliet noted mildly, but it was an improvement on the singers' trying to blow their heads off. Of course, that hardly meant they were going to leave their trenches. They were still technically at war, after all.

It was a minor technicality, but one that begged notice.

"_Noel, noel, noel, noel- born is the King of Israel!"_

The stubbornly average song was greeted to enthusiastic cheering from the German side, and their enthusiasm was catching. As the first notes of 'O Tannebaum' rang out, Lawliet found himself joining in, albeit a little more reluctantly than most. A few raised eyebrows were sent his way as he sang- evidently his troops had not expected him to join them in their merrymaking, or to have a singing voice that was a touch more than decent to do it with.

_Quillsh would be proud._

'O come all ye faithful' was the next reply- this time, Lawliet took a small gamble, hoping at least a few of his men knew enough Latin to join him.

"Adeste fideles, laeti triumphantes..."

Slowly, the men picked it up, and those that could not understand the Latin sang in German instead. The song rose up in three languages from the two armies, up above the battlefields, the wire and the mud. The guns lay forgotten in favour of Christmas trees, and for the first time since the war began, Lawliet allowed himself a glimmer of hope- both for the war, and for the human race at large.

"_Oh come let us adore him,"_

"_O lasset uns abanten,"_

"_Venite__ adoremus__, __Dominum__!"_

This round of cheering was the loudest yet- hats were thrown and shoulders were shaken all round. Even Lawliet had begun to join in (unwillingly, of course), when the soldier he had spoken to earlier stepped up to the top of the trench.

"English, come over! You no shoot, we no shoot!"

"What do you think you're doing?" the bewildered cry was lost amidst the fresh wave of shouts as the men collectively rushed to the firing step.

A head appeared over the English line. "You come over here!" the man shouted.

_Evidently a little more self-preserving than our dear Private over there. _Lawliet thought wryly. _Though, given the current situation, I'd hardly say that was a bad thing..._

"Hey, Jorge! Come with me!" said Private called. Laughing, he and Jorge leapt into No Man's Land with hooks, eagerly pushing the barbed wire aside as they strode out across the frozen mud.

"Send officer to talk!"

"Hold your fire!" a deep voice ordered from somewhere in the English trench. A few moments later, a stockily built man began making his way towards the duo in the centre of the field. They greeted him cheerfully in halting English and Lawliet rolled his eyes at their incompetency in the language. _Our enemies they may be, but that is hardly any excuse for ignorance._

He sighed and pulled himself out of the trench, doubting the British would shoot now that one of their own was out in the open. As he crossed, he saw several more Tommy soldiers leaving their trenches and ambling over to the small group in the centre.

"Good evening, Captain. Merry Christmas to you, and to all your men." Lawliet's usual monotone was greeted, for once, with enthusiasm. His hand was shaken multiple times, and his back was slapped several times more. He failed to hide a wince as a particularly strong soldier whacked him across the back, and could only hope it had gone unnoticed.

A melodic laugh shattered the illusion. "Lads, lads, be gentle. He is a mere Hun after all, no match for brute Tommy strength." The voice was pleasant, but laced with a cleverly hidden contempt. Lawliet looked up to see another young man striding towards them, his Asian features standing out amidst the pale-skinned soldiers around them.

"The recent weather appears not to have dulled your tan, Leftenant." Lawliet commented dryly, noting the insignia on his coat as he came to a halt before him.

The man laughed again. "Apparently not. I consider myself lucky, in that respect at least."

More men were joining them now, and soon Lawliet was beleaguered with requests for translation. Out of the corner of his eye, he noticed the Asian man (boy, really, if he was any judge of age) was similarly in demand for his German skills, but he had little time to contemplate his apparent intelligence as he began to work out that the men seemed to want a game of some kind.

"Football!"

"Ja, fußball!" Lawliet's eyes met the British captain's. The man shrugged.

"Don't see why not. Hi, you lot, attackers group over there, defenders there and we need a goalie..."

Within minutes, a bizarre game of football commenced. Despite the captain's, and Lawliet's, efforts at organisation, every man joined in, apparently playing whichever role he wished. Lawliet spent a while fronting the German efforts, to the surprise of his men, and when he decided it was about time to leave the heaving throng, he felt somewhat pleased with himself. Whilst playing, he had noticed the Asian Leftenant doing the same for his side, a small part of his mind admiring his competitiveness and apparent skill at the game.

A voice from the side was the last thing he exected. "You're not the typical image of a German, I must say." Lawliet jumped, turning to see the Asian boy standing next to him and offering him a half-smile as he greeted him in fluent German. "Nor a footballer, though you do appear to be a surprisingly good one."

Lawliet allowed himself a wry smile in return. "Why, thank you. On the subject of footballing skills, I could say the same for you- but what exactly do you mean by 'typical image of a German'?"

The boy laughed. "You know: one of those tall, blonde, Aryan chaps. And I hope you'll pardon me for saying this, but..."

"I'm not?" Lawliet laughed softly. "I can be the former, actually, if I put a little effort into it." He stretched, his back creaking and popping in complaint as he raised his head to the boy's level and found it to be a little above it. "You see?"

The boy looked a little perturbed- possibly by the sound. "Yes, thank you."

Lawliet laughed again. "My pleasure, but don't expect it again any time soon." He sank back into his normal posture with a sense of relief, heedless of the stare he was receiving from the young Lieutenant.

"I don't think we'll be allowed to know each other that long anyway." The voice appeared outwardly normal, but Lawliet thought he heard a note of bitterness in it somewhere.

"Why not?"

"Why not? Because we're meant to be at war, and what war ends in some silly Christmas football game? No, the generals will have us back in the trenches soon, and then we'll be slogging it out again, killing each other as though nothing ever happened."

"You're very perceptive."

"Thankyou." A whistle blew shrilly as a higher-ranking English officer strode out into No Man's Land. The Leftenant sighed. "What did I tell you?"

"Almost exactly this." Lawliet nodded. "I suppose you had better go. It's been a pleasure talking to you, Leftenant."

"Likewise. I daresay you'd make for decent company as well, were we not enemies."

The brown eyes sparkled as they looked across at him, and Lawliet found himself agreeing with the man.

"Perhaps." The whistle blew again. "But for now, you had best be off, I think." The Leftenant nodded.

"Indeed I should." He turned to leave, then stopped and turned back for a moment. "Forgive me, I did not ask your name."

"Lawliet."

"Lawliet? Pleased to meet you, Lawliet." The Leftenant grinned. "I'm Light."

With that, he turned and joined the other British soldiers striding off back to their trenches. Lawliet noticed with a wry smile the way the soldier's pockets were laden with goods from the other side, and as his battalion returned to their own trenches, his men gathered around each other, comparing their 'Christmas presents' amusedly.

It was only later on, as he lay on his cot, that he remembered the Leftenant, but he paid the lad little thought as he tried to settle down to sleep.

_Good company he may well have been, but as he said, we are at war._ He turned the lights out and drew the blanket around his shoulders. _And in war, there is no fraternizing with the enemy._

---

**Author's Note: **I know it's out of season, but there we go. I needed to get this arc started so I can get some serious work done on it, and I didn't want to wait until Christmas.

I love trying to work out what might happen to DN characters in other historical settings- particularly Light and L. This story arc (yes, it will crop up again) is based on that, along with our recent 'Battle of the Somme' history coursework. As you may have guessed, I've taken a few... artistic liberties with this scene, but I've tried to be as accurate as possible.

That done, I hope you enjoyed the chapter. The arc is planned out, and all that remains is for me to fill in the gaps. Till next time then!

---


	6. Colour

**Colour**

---

_noun: the quality of an object or substance with respect to light reflected by the object, determined by measurement of hue, saturation etc.; background information used to deepen interest in a person or event_

---

There are a multitude of stories in your world that I allow to distract me as I work.

Oh, but I have forgotten to introduce myself. I do apologise. The fact that I am older than much else in existence does occasionally serve as an excuse for forgetfulness, but with a job like mine, no doubt you would rather I were not senile.

I am Death, dear readers. Not one of those arrogant Shinigami, no. I do not proclaim myself to be a God, but merely do the work of one. Oh, don't get me wrong, I am not all doom and gloom. I can be a perfectly affable fellow at points, but with humans such as yourselves, there is always one thing I have to remember.

**- A small fact -**

You are going to die.

Does the thought worry you? Well, dear reader, do not let it do so. I am nothing if not fair. At some point, each person on earth will be lying (some stand, but it is rare) before me, and see that I have come to take them away. When I do so, it is with the utmost care, regardless of what they have done in life.

My job may seem like a rather depressing one, and it can be. I have seen people do things to each other that would make the most hardened man weep. This is why I focus on colour- it is an escape, both from the horror of the death itself, and that of the survivors. Colour is the closest thing I have to an escape, but I digress. No doubt you wish me to hurry up and to go on with my tale.

Very well then. I saw the 'godlike' boy four times.

-

The first time, he was a mere child (I do understand that this was the condition he spent most of his life under, dear readers, but I do need something by which to differentiate his ages), and the sky outside the hospice was a rare, bright blue.

I had come for his grandfather- ancient and shrivelled as he was, with a catalogue of medical problems that over the years had conspired to wear him down.

- **A note on Grandfather Yagami** -

He doted on his granddaughter, but it was his grandson who was there at the end.

They had taken his sister out as her crotchety behaviour was threatening to wake her supposedly beloved grandfather up. Only Light was left, blankly realising that his grandfather would not be woken by any noise whatsoever, even his sister's shrieks.

- **He had been lying in the same way for three months following the stroke. **-

And Light was an undeniably clever boy.

He sat there as, unbeknownst to him, the old man's soul shifted. The heart machine blipped weakly, almost in protest. Certainly it might have been an attempt to keep its patient in place, had the machine been sentient. The soul shifted again, then rose as though sitting up. In Life, Grandfather Yagami had been a stern, disciplined man, and in Death he was no different. I had no difficulty imagining his posture to be rigid as I lifted his soul into my arms amidst a symphony of flatlining machines.

A flurry of nurses filled the room, but when I turned to look back, Light did not seem perturbed by the goings on. Shoved into the corner as he was, he merely stared at the body of his grandfather with a sort of detached, semi-arrogant interest that caught my eye. I rarely see a survivor looking that way.

His father rushed in, then brought himself up short, placing a hand on his son's shoulder in a gesture that was evidently meant to be comforting, but the boy did not need it. Eight years old, and already he was as callous a scientist as any, and perhaps more intelligent than some.

Attempting to put the incident out of my mind, I left without a second glance back.

-

The second time, I was about as busy as I had ever been. The day was black, and Light was older now, a teenager almost on the verge of adulthood. Whispers of _Kira, Killer, Murderer, God_ floated around his head like snatches of cloud as I moved towards him. The man lying in his arms seemed to hear them too. L, I think they called him.

- **I knew **_**of**_** him. **-

But the Kira-child had placed a lot of work upon my shoulders.

There was little room in my mind for more than colours and death.

Light (Kira, Kami, call him what you will) held him close like the friend he had once been (Ryuk was only too happy to tell me the story later on) and to any other observer, he may well have seemed to be so. I, on the other hand, was close enough to see the smirk he allowed as the dark eyes closed.

_I knew._ L's soul repeated the words over and over. _I knew, but I..._

Am dead? Perhaps, but he never finished that sentence. His soul slipped upwards to join that of Watari in my arms, safe in the knowledge that his quest to convict the man before us would continue.

This time, Light screamed as I left. Only the souls and I knew it was fake.

-

The third time I saw Light was in a dark grey hospital room. This time I had come for his father- and the boy (a man now) wasn't entirely acting.

- **A popular myth about Light Yagami.** -

They later thought that he didn't care about his father.

He did.

Just not enough to stop him getting killed.

But note, dear readers, that I said not _entirely_. The wisps of sound-cloud about him had gathered into a storm, a veil that clouded all his vision except that of his dreams of godhood.

He held out the Death Note, and his father did not take it.

His scream then was entirely real- born from a mixture of anger and grief, and this time I paused to listen. His father seemed to want to linger a little- content as he was in the supposed knowledge that his son was not a mass murderer, and fearful of what was to come in the days ahead, and for once I was willing to allow him a moment or two to watch.

Then the one they called Aizawa stepped forward, gently consoling him. Soichiro seemed almost to relax (if a spirit could be said to do such a thing) at the gesture, and I turned away.

Grief, whether that of an innocent or a killer, is a private thing after all, and I never liked to see the survivors after my work was done.

-

The last time I saw him was in a warehouse. Well, two warehouses to be exact, since it wasn't only him I had come for. The sky outside was a reddish gold as they declaimed, as he proclaimed, as he laughed aloud in sheer madness and as his former friends looked on in horror.

Eventually the gun was fired and the pen was pressed and both 'God' and 'disciple' fell to the ground. One was dead, one near to it. Pun not intended, of course.

- **I actually felt almost sorry for Mikami. **-

But had it not been Kira he'd chosen to follow, it would have been someone else.

Perhaps the fall would have been harder, perhaps not.

Either way, it would have come in the end.

Light ran then, and I was surprised by his determination. Even with multiple bullet wounds, he still managed to make it to a warehouse almost a kilometre away from the first. I heard Ryuk's laughter, and I think he did too. The words that accompanied it were unnecessary, everyone knew what was about to happen.

When I found him, he was hallucinating. I could tell- I've seen enough people in a similar state to know it. I often wonder what he saw, but perhaps it is better that I do not know. The Kira-cloud was gone, and only the child was left. Not even that- his broken body lay on the steps. He was frightened, bewildered in a way his younger self had never been, except perhaps for when he'd lost his memories of the Note. The detectives searching for him would never know. Not even what was left of his family would be told what truly happened, if the remainder of the SPK and NPA teams had any decency.

When the heart attack finally took him, I believe he saw me. Not simply a look and acceptance as so many others are wont to do, but a sad, awed realisation that in the end, he was never anything more than a boy with a dream.

He seemed almost eager to go.

---

**Author's Note: **I know the ending's a tad abrupt, but I couldn't think of anything better to say. This was based around Markus Zusak's book 'The Book Thief', which tells the story of a German girl in WWII through the eyes of death, and it's an absolutely beautiful book. Read it if you haven't done so already.

Till next time then, dear readers.


	7. Sickness

**Sickness**

-

_noun: the state or instance of being sick; illness._

-

"You drink it first."

"Why?"

"Because." A moment's pause. L's reluctance must have shown, as Light's face morphed into a pout. "Please?"

"..."

"Ryuu-chan?"

"...alright." Light grinned, giving a small giggle and wriggling himself into a sitting position. L warily dripped some of the unpromisingly purplish mixture onto the spoon.

"It's not poisa... poisons... toxic, honest!"

L wanted to believe those big brown eyes, he really did.

"If you say so." He tilted his head back slightly, poked his tongue out and let a single drop of the liquid fall onto it. His face screwed up reflexively the instant the droplet hit, and by Light's outright laughter, he probably did look a little ridiculous. However...

"It can't be _that_ bad, Ryuu-chan!" The brat giggled, evidently thinking it was. L shrugged in response and allowed a small smile to tug at his lips.

"Mmm, Light-kun does have a point. In fact, I would go so far as to say it's rather delectable."

The giggling abruptly stopped. L's smile turned into a smirk as he downed the rest of the spoonful. "Light-kun has gone oddly quiet- is something wrong?"

"...no."

"There is a 93.7 percent chance Light-kun is sulking."

"'M not!"

"Now risen to 95.4."

"..."

L drank another spoonful. "Light-kun really has no idea what he's missing. In fact," He opened his eyes and stood up, taking the medicine with him as he stepped gracefully off the bed. "I believe I shall deprive him of it, so he may further reflect on the matter."

"But Ryuuzaki!"

"What is it, Light-kun?"

The boy leaned forward, reaching out a pudgy hand. "I need it!"

"But I gathered from Light-kun's behaviour that he thought it was foul?" The brat pouted again in response. "I thought as much. No, Light-kun, in light of your behaviour, I'm afraid you will have to put up with your cold a while longer. Goodnight." He reached the door and flicked the light off, to a cry of dismay from the brat. Hurrying to the bathroom, he spat out the medicine he'd been holding beneath his tongue.

'_Light-kun was right, it is disgusting stuff.'_ He grimaced in distaste, dumping the near-full bottle in the bin by the door. _'Someone should do something to keep that stuff away from innocent children...'_

Not that Light could be called innocent, but if the relative sophistication of the packaging was anything to go by, there were likely a few thousand other children out there having to drink that monstrosity...

-

An irritating radio jingle woke Light the next morning. Scowling at first the song, then the added pressure it put on his already clogged up face, he rolled over and fumbled around for the tissues.

"_We now go to our 7 o'clock news bulletin with Kayori Miyaru."_

"_Thanks Takeshi!"_

"Go 'way." The grouchy four-year-old muttered, still trying to unearth either the elusive tissue box or the light switch in the midst of the darkened room.

"_And it has been reported that Medicon now faces a lawsuit based on allegations that its medicines contain potentially harmful ingredients. The brand, which includes the popular children's cough mixture 'Minisoothe' has denied the accusation, but the perpetrators of the legal action say they will not back down."_

"Meh?" he blearily enquired of the radio. _'Wasn't that the stuff I was meant to have yesterday?'_

"_The effects of this poison and the names of the supposedly toxic ingredients are as yet undisclosed. More on this story later- back to you in the studio!"_

'_Wait... L drank it!'_

His inner voice rolled its eyes. _'He's mean, he deserves it.'_

'_Nobody deserves to be poisoned!' _His conscience snapped back. _'Not telling him wouldn't be nice at all.'_

'_He's not nice, why should you be?'_

'_He's only given us a home, food...'_

'_Your point being? I'm tired, I want to sleep!'_

'_...can't argue with that.'_

Giving up on his search for the tissues, Light flopped back onto the bed and fell asleep almost instantly.

-

**Author's Note: **At present, this is the first of a series of somewhat nebulous ideas I've had regarding a Plot Bunny posted by Konoha's Kage over on the Plot Bunny Exchange (which is a brilliant place for ideas- any aspiring author must take a look). Basically, Soichiro is missing/dead/run off and Sachiko is dying. She turns to Watari, who she knows somehow (still working on that bit), to look after four-year-old Light and since he's busy in England, the job is passed on to L, who for some reason is in Japan at the time the request is made. Chaos ensues.

I loved writing this- do tell me what you think!


	8. Healing

**Healing**

---

_adjective: setting right/repairing; to restore (a person) to spiritual wholeness._

---

There's an ache in his throat that will not go away.

Sometimes the grief hangs in his chest like a weight, making him gasp for breath and almost imagine he's having a heart attack. Sometimes he feels numb and hollow, and it leaves a bad taste in his mouth when he does (_there has to be something more, surely- he's not cried yet, and he's starting to wonder if he's still alive, still human, still breathing or if Light ripped his heart out along with his innocence)_.

Sometimes he feels nothing at all.

The others call it 'healing', Matsuda calls it something akin to hell.

---

_A/N: Yes, I know it's short. I tried lengthening it, but it never worked. Inspired by what happened after a family friend passed away last year, but altered a bit, as you can probably tell._


	9. Dance

**Dance**

-

_verb:__to move one's feet or body, or both, rhythmically in a pattern of steps, esp. to the accompaniment of music; to perform or take part in a dance._

-

Chihiro Sato was feeling rather pleased with herself. With good reason too- after hours, no, _days_ of careful work and practice, she'd got her dance choreography exactly right. The final exam was in a month, and for the performance she'd managed to persuade several of the arts centre's top dancers to join her in it, including Light Yagami.

Everyone at the Kanto Centre for Performing Arts knew who Light was. While the vast majority of the other dancers had been in training since they could barely walk, Light had swanned in at the age of about ten, saying she wanted to learn ballet. They'd scoffed at first. _Another brat,_ they'd whispered, placing bets after she'd gone home on how long she'd last. The longest had been a single term (so her parents would get their money's worth in lessons before giving way to the end of another little fad).

But the girl had proved them wrong. Not only had she stayed for seven years (and counting), she'd effortlessly reached the levels that had spent most of their lives trying to attain, taking up several other dance forms along the way and achieving similar succcess with those. But it wasn't that which stung her peers so much as the fact that she actually didn't _want_ to be a dancer. From day one she'd made no secret of her desire to go into the NPA like her father, and the fact that she had everything it took to make it in everyone else's chosen profession too hadn't exactly won her friends.

Nevertheless, even her most envious of critics had to admit Light was nice. While this tended to only irritate those her age even further, the gentle, smiling prodigy had turned the vast majority of the younger dancers into ardent fans, to the point that there was almost a queue of ardent girls (and the occasional boy) lining up to help her with whatever she wanted at her after-school classes. Light would accept the help gladly, but never seemed to take advantage of her fan club. Still, getting her involved with a dance one of them had choreographed had seemed almost out of the question. After all, why would she want to learn something that had come from the lower ranks?

But she had. It had taken her weeks of preparation and confidence-building, but Chihiro had eventually plucked up the courage to ask the KCPA's shining star if she could, no, sorry, _would_ help her out, and Light had said yes.

Of course, the dance itself was a pretty decent one, it had to be said. Chihiro had picked 'horror' as her prompt, taking that into the realm of the undead and all the movements associated with them. She'd picked out a song that, while in English, had turned out to have the perfect mood and lyrics ('unzip my body, take my heart out' was Chihiro's favourite, appealing to her inner lover of all things twisted and making for a fascinating motif). Light's character was a dominatrix, a murderess, and while Chihiro had initially been worried the older girl might be offended, she'd merely given her a funny look. If it had been anyone else, it would have been asking her if she was suggesting something, but with Light it didn't, couldn't mean that. No-one would ever suggest something bad about Light. Not ever.

Still elated, Chihiro began handing out schedules. The first rehearsal had finished, with the second set for Monday. That done, she practically skipped out the room.

Her dance was going to be _amazing_.

- - -

At around 9 o'clock that evening, anyone passing by Light Yagami's room would have seen her enter, looking faintly amused as she locked the door behind her. There would then have followed two thuds as first her bag was flung to the ground and then as she herself collapsed, followed by several minutes of breathless laughter.

"Hearts... zombies... murderers... oh _God_, they really have no idea, do they Ryuk?"


	10. Children

**Children**

---

_noun, plural: a person between birth and full growth; a son or daughter; a baby or infant; a human fetus_

---

Sachiko Yagami learnt early on that children were not things that lasted. That, given the slightest chance, fate would snatch them away, leaving behind a pair of bewildered parents and a too-small coffin.

She was twenty-four when Baby 1 died, and had been a Yagami for less than a year. Wedded life could not have been more perfect- her husband was devoted, even if his job meant he was away so often. Said job was well-paid, and when they'd learnt Sachiko was pregnant, words could not have expressed their delight.

It had never occurred to her that she hadn't deserved it, that something had to go because no-one's life was ever _this_ good, not in the real world.

Reality came knocking in the form of a stabbing pain in the abdomen one September afternoon, in the form of an ambulance rushing her to hospital, in the form of doctors crowding around and saying how very sorry they were, but they couldn't do anything for her baby.

She and Soichiro had gone home without it- it had been too small to have a proper burial. Baby 2 joined it in the hospital waste disposal a year and a half later.

Baby 3 made it to birth and they'd finally allowed themselves a little hope, a name, a nursery. But when the midwives finally dragged him out of Sachiko, little Takeshi was quiet. No cry, no first wail to lead to a first breath. The doctors had rushed the purplish body out, leaving the bewildered Yagami adults behind with only a nurse to offer empty words of comfort and a cleanup.

Takeshi was returned to them within the hour. _Not dead yet,_ said the doctors, _give it five years or so_. Their son, their beautiful, precious baby boy had Ohtahara syndrome. His brain had been starved of blood when he hadn't cried and now it was irreparably, horrifically damaged. When he was finally cleared to go, it was with the warning that he would never talk, never walk, never even know who they were.

Light was born three years later so that Sachiko would have something to busy herself with, to take her mind off the pain when it inevitably arrived. He wailed, he breathed, and finally the doctors looked at her and congratulated her on a successful birth.

That night, looking down at her sons (Takeshi still had to sleep in their room for fear of his dying in the night), Sachiko stared at the newer one and found that she felt nothing. Takeshi may have been wholly unresponsive, but Light was, and could only ever be, a replacement, a distraction. Nothing more. When the boys were woken by each others' crying, it was the two-day-old Light who was put into his own room, and when Takeshi finally died a few years later, the distraction was ignored in favour of his mother's grief for a son who never knew her.

Never mind the confused look on the three-year-old's face, the hurt in his eyes as she failed to explain where his big brother had gone, or even to give him a hug (those tasks were eventually allocated to Soichiro, who cared, but there was a funeral to plan and relatives to see and endless paperwork to sort through, so he was almost never around).

Two babies later, Sayu was born. Unconnected to Takeshi, she was beautiful, perfect, the apple of her mother's eye. Light sat in a corner whilst the relatives crammed into the house, unnoticed, just as he had been when his brother died.

_No more babies,_ the adults later said, though there was still one clump of cells left to be dumped in the hospital waste system before it was actually over.

After all that, Sachiko was hardly surprised when Light swanned off to live with Misa (it was always going to happen), although she did get a little suspicious when Soichiro also vanished for nearly two months. She fretted when Sayu was kidnapped though. The girl was returned a few days later, and then both her children reminded her of Takeshi- Light the replacement, with his hurt, confused eyes and Sayu the lookalike with her blank ones.

When Light was finally claimed by Kira, Sachiko acted out the part of staunch, grieving mother to perfection. She'd had plenty of practice, so it was relatively easy, especially since any emotion that came with the act was lost with (Takeshi) Sayu.

---

**Author's Note:** I'm aware that this Sachiko contrasts with the one in the first ficlet in this series, who loves Light and Sayu. My excuse? The first one was filmverse, this isn't (I treat the films as something of an AU). I've also probably not been a hundred percent accurate with the issues involved, but I've tried to be as tactful as I can.

Dedicated to my mother, who has been pregnant seven times. Three of those children made it to birth, and we count ourselves lucky there were no defects.


	11. Flowers

**Flowers**

-

_noun, plural: a plant, considered with reference to its blossom or cultivated for its floral beauty._

-

She visits him every day. Sometimes there are other people there, sometimes not. They seem to understand now, for the most part, that she prefers to be alone in doing this.

Sometimes she brings him flowers.

Kneeling at this altar to mortality, this desperate site of struggle and loss, she allows the tears to flow as she remembers how his eyes used to water too, when she brought him flowers before. It was his one flaw, the allergy, leaving him sneezing and coughing with tears streaming down his face.

Not that he was crying, of course. Her Light never cried. Not even at the end, in that horrible warehouse with Kira and the other horrible men and the bullets and...

At first, she'd tried to staunch the tears. Bravery, that was what was needed. What he'd have wanted, if he'd known (and maybe he did, Misa had always heard people talking about how they'd hear you if you spoke, and sometimes, just sometimes, that was enough to entice them back). But in the end it had been an impossible task. Misa had never been very good at hiding her emotions, not where he was concerned anyway.

And so she cries. Never onto the flowers though. Salt's bad for flowers- the gardening sections of her old magazines said so (not that she reads them any more).

"Don't you dare give up." She tells him, little-girl-happy voice abandoned to make room for her grief. "Don't you dare leave me. Not now, not after all... all we've been through." (it's cheesy, she knows, but anything's worth a try) "Please."

There is no response from her beloved. The breeze sneaks its way through the windows, making the curtains flutter halfheartedly. The sun shines, and she hates it. The heart machine blips (oh, the irony), and she hates that too, even though it's one of the reasons he's still alive, still trapped in this bleak, sunlit world of starched sheets and metal beds. Still breathing, just, though the ice-cold hand she grasps does not move a muscle.

Hasn't done for four hundred and eighty-four days. Misa's been counting.

-

A week later, she's woken by a phone call. They want her to _sit down, to make sure you're prepared for..._  
_  
__What for?_

_Ah... Miss Amane, well. You have our deepest sympathies, but I'm afraid..._

_It was the flowers, wasn't it?_ Has to have been. The ones she brought him yesterday, the daffodils, they must have had too much pollen, because why else would her strong, beautiful, precious Light just... give up on her? Just stop his heart, stop breathing?

A heart attack, they said.

Misa knew better.

Not that she'd ever tell. She'd take the secret to her grave, because she still needed love, and who'd love her when they realised she'd killed Light with her flowers?


	12. Toys

**Toys**

-

_noun, plural: an object, often a small representation of something familiar, as an animal or person, for children or others to play with; plaything._

-

It was the height of summer, and seven-year-old Atsuko Mikami stood in the room she shared with her sister, posing in front of the small, cracked mirror. Her grandmother had sent her a new dress and it was _so_ pretty, white with pink flowers, and she'd just had to try it on. Now she spun before the mirror, having given up her previous futile efforts to do up the buttons on the back.

"Atsuko! Atsuko, sweetheart, can you tidy the living room for a bit?" The child pouted. It seemed her mother had a knack of finding chores just when she was having fun.

"Can't Keiko do it?"

"Keiko's already done all her work and some of yours, now get a move on!"

There was no way out of this. "Yes, mum."

She debated for a moment whether she should take off her dress and wear something a little more sensible for cleaning, then decided against it. It'd take far too long, and besides, she could just pretend to do the lounge. Clean the middle part nicely, then... miss the edges. Yes, that would work.

With a smile, Atsuko skipped downstairs. She'd have this done in minutes!

-

Sure enough, when she stood up a little while later, any dirt still there could no longer be seen. Atsuko knocked the duster against the wall with a pleased smile and turned to leave.

"Not so fast." The words were exaggerated, making the statement sound like something from a film. Atsuko finished turning to see her sister standing in the doorway.

Keiko was sixteen, and looked almost like an older version of Atsuko herself, only less eager to shirk. Where Atsuko wanted only to play and headed outside at every possibly opportunity, Keiko appeared to be a model daughter, content to stay at their mother's side and work. The seven-year-old dropped her head, guessing she was most probably in for a telling-off. "'Lo Keiko."

The older girl nodded, then lifted up the throw on the sofa. "I distinctly remember hearing mum say you were to clean the whole lounge, not just the middle part. Am I wrong?"

Atsuko mumbled something vaguely affirmatory and Keiko laughed. "Silly Atsie-chan. It's an obvious trick, and you're not the first to have come up with it. I used to do that, you know."

Atsuko blinked, finding it hard to imagine Keiko cheating at her chores. "You... what?"

"You heard me. You're my mini-me in more ways than one, Atsie. You just weren't around when I was seven." The older girl sat down, gesturing for Atsuko to join her, which she did. "Want me to do up that dress of yours?"

"Mm."

"It's very pretty.

Atsuko smiled, fingering the dress' neatly embroidered hem. "I know. Did Nanna send you anything?"

"She did, but I'm saving it for when I have to go anywhere smart. It's a little too pretty to waste on doing chores." The tone was a knowing one again, but not unkindly so. "You smell nice."

Atsuko frowned minutely at the announcement. "Eh?"

Keiko laughed. "Sorry- I know it's an odd thing to say, but you really do. Like soap." Atsuko scrunched her nose.

"I can't smell anything."

"Hmm... maybe it's just me." Her sister sighed as she did up the top two buttons. They sat still for a little while, then Atsuko glanced back towards her. "Can I watch something please?"

Keiko shrugged. "Don't see why not." She passed her little sister the remote and sat back to watch the story currently being read on the children's channel. Atsuko snuggled into her side, enthralled by the soft voice of the storyteller as a toy monkey hopped off his shelf to explore the world around him.

"Keiko," She piped up as he met a giraffe "D'you think that could ever really happen?"

"Hmm?" Keiko's mind was hardly on the show, though she wasn't about to tell her sister that.

"Animals, toy animals, talking." Atsuko looked thoughtful. "Actually any animals at all. D'you think they talk when we're not looking?"

Keiko smiled indulgently. The sixteen-year-old could still remember when she'd thought the same way, and debated for a moment what to say. She knew it not to be true, and didn't want to coddle her precious mini-self, but life was going to take away her fantasties soon enough. How could a simple childish idea hurt? It wasn't like she was even double figures yet. "Maybe they do. After all, real animals make noises, don't they?"

"So maybe that's their way of talking!" Atsuko finished happily. Keiko grinned and hugged her sister.

"Maybe. You never know, eh Atsie-chan?"

"No you don't!" The seven-year-old had a grin to match Keiko's, her shining eyes prompting a wave of affection in the older girl, who hugged her tighter.

'_Now, if you're very good moles, you can have your tea in our summerhouse!' _announced the monkey's teddy bear friend. Atsuko cocked her head to one side.

"That's not going to work. The moles aren't going to stay just because the teddy bear tells them to."

"Why not, Atsie-chan?"

"Because they're naughty. The teddy bear should stop trying to tell them what to do because they won't listen and they'll still be naughty and mean to everyone else and the teddy bear should just leave it because they'll get tired in the end." Atsuko took a long breath to make up for the air lost in the explanation. "If he goes away and ignores them, they'll go and do something else and nobody will have to care."

Keiko nudged her, "Why not care about the moles? Surely they could be made to be nice."

"No. The moles are mean. They're not going to change just 'cos someone wants them to. The teddy bear has his own things to do- he has to find his lost hat and help the monkey get back on his shelf. He shouldn't be wasting his time on the stupid moles."

Keiko sighs. "Don't be mean, Atsie. Some people are mean, yes, but they can change. We just have to be kind, and patient."

A moth flew in and Keiko batted at it. It fluttered a little further from where they sat, but it took another hand-wave before it flew off properly. It upped and downed as though drunk for a few moments before flying into the door.

"That wasn't kind _or_ patient." Atsuko observed. Her sister smiled wryly.

"No, but a moth isn't a person. It doesn't think or feel like we do, it just eats our clothes."

"You never know." The seven-year-old quoted, sticking her tongue out as she finished. Keiko laughed.

"Oh, you." She swatted at Atsuko much like she'd done with the moth. "I'm sure mum's got a host of other chores lined up for you." Atsuko groaned, prompting another laugh from Keiko. "Go on. You'll get it done a lot faster if you go now. I'll finish this for you, don't worry."

"'Kaaay." Atsuko pouted, sliding off the seat. Keiko planted a kiss on her head as she hit the floor and was rewarded with a smile as the seven-year-old ran out of the room. Frowning slightly, her sister flicked the TV off and went back to her book. When had her happy, carefree little sister become so pessimistic? Keiko was going to have to keep an eye on her- she'd have whatever innocence she had left for only a little while more.

Still, at least the girl was loved. That had to count for something, didn't it? Whatever happened.


	13. Allergy

**Allergy**

-

_noun: exaggerated or pathological reaction to substances, situations, or physical states that are without comparable effect on the average individual._

-

It didn't take Atsuko Mikami long to work out that baby Teru was allergic to practically _everything_.

The constant crying didn't ring any real alarm bells- she'd heard enough tales from the other women in the pre-natal classes to understand that babies were, according to their experiences, never, ever quiet. It was only when he began continuously sneezing, vomiting and otherwise expelling his body mass that she drew together some of the little money she had left and took him to the doctor's surgery.

On receiving a set of allergy test results that was almost a foot long, Atsuko gave up and made a mental note to stock up on baby milk, tissues and as many nappies as she could afford.

-

Light was four when his parents found out he was allergic to sugar.

Well, he wasn't _allergic_, per se. It was just that any amount of the stuff seemed to throw a switch in his brain marked 'Hyperness Mode', as Soichiro discovered when he bought a chocolate bar on the way home from work as a special treat one night. Sachiko had had her suspicions prior to the event, but had never said anything. The chocolate had, of course, been gratefully received, and Light had skipped off to the kitchen to eat it at the table like a good boy.

Ten minutes after that, Sachiko noticed he was smiling a lot more than normal.

Half an hour later, they noticed he'd vanished, and there were some very odd noises coming from various parts of the house.

Two hours later, Soichiro was able to keep enough of a hold on him to stop him quite literally bouncing off the walls.

Almost four hours later, Light no longer had to be physically restrained, and from that point on the adults agreed that in future, sweets were to be considered a Bad Thing in the Yagami Household.

-

L was five when he found out he was allergic to fish.

He'd just moved in with his maternal grandmother after his parents had been declared 'unfit' by social services and as much as he loved the woman, Lou Jones was perhaps a little _too_ partial to fish curry, with the result that, less than a few hours after his arrival, Liam Lawliet was to be found in bed- shivering, vomiting and curled up tightly in an attempt to ease the worst of the cramps. Worst of all was that his dearest grandma didn't realise what had caused this sudden onset of sickness, and innocently assumed that something nice to eat would be the best way to get her grandson over it.

This time, Liam wound up in hospital, severely dehydrated, blue in the face and vowing (once he could breathe again) never to eat healthy food as long as he lived, especially not if it contained fish. On the plus side, he found that sitting and lying in a hunched manner was surprisingly comfortable and by the time social services allowed Lou near enough to tell him off for it, his back had begun to complain if he so much as thought of deviating from it.

-

Sayu was eight when she found out she was allergic to orange squash.

Of all the things in the world to induce anaphylaxis, this was the last one Yumiko's mother had expected. Sachiko being the perfect mother that she was had never let her children anywhere near the chemical-packed stuff, but Sayu's best friend Yumi had almost grown up on a diet of it. So, having been informed of its wonders by her friend, the girl naturally wished to try this neon-infused ambrosia.

It was the closest Mrs. Morioka had ever come to a heart attack, though the hospital's children's ICU was very pretty, and before her own mother arrived, Sayu had almost wanted to live there with the doctors and the nurses and the multicoloured mutant fish. Then Sachiko got there with hugs and love and sugar-free cookies, and all she'd wanted to do after that was go home.

-

Takada was 14 when she became allergic to grass spores.

She'd always been so proud, sitting in classrooms amidst the other girls as they coughed and sneezed and she didn't. Well, a little nauseated at the thought of the germs that must be flying through the air (very few of her classmates were as conscientious with tissues as she'd have been), but proud nonetheless. When the first symptoms began making their appearance, she brushed it off as a light cold.

Two days and countless miniature packets of tissues later, she was beginning to understand why the others didn't bother.

-

Matsuda was approaching 19 when his allergy to dust mites finally dawned on him.

His childhood home had always been as close to pristine as it could possibly be, courtesy of his family's two full-time maids. However, they had a most annoying habit of only cleaning the places Matsuda's father was likely to see, and even the man's most casual acquaintance could guess that his children's rooms weren't on that list. As a result, Matsuda spent a large part of his childhood sneezing, a thing for which his parents berated him endlessly- calling it weak, unmanly and other such confidence-knocking things.

When he finally escaped to college, his dorm mate had been quick to notice his near-constant cold, and instead of giving him a lecture on the role and immune system of a 'real man', merely cocked an eyebrow and handed him a vacuum cleaner. Their room quickly garnered a reputation as the cleanest on campus, and it was only when L and Light walked in on his morning hoovering ritual years later at Task Force HQ that he stopped.

-

Misa was 27 when she might have found out she was allergic to cats, but never actually did.

Sweet, kind Matsuda had popped round on Valentine's Day, substituting for the apparently ever-busy Light- now so wrapped up in the case that he didn't even come home to see his Misa any more. Still, Matsuda was a welcome enough substitute, and the utterly adorable white cat he brought with him helped. She cooed over the thing, held it, stroked it, and called it Tsuki. Matsuda's face had fallen at that, and she'd assumed it was because he'd wanted her to name it after him. _Next time,_ she'd laughed. _Next time, bring Misa a black cat and she'll name it after Matsu-kun._

A week later saw her sneezing almost endlessly. Matsuda came round again, and whilst he'd prattled endlessly about his childhood colds and such, she'd fixed them a couple of drinks. Nothing too strong- just to keep the worst of the cold at bay.

Well, she wasn't to know Matsu was a lightweight. Within minutes, Light's disappearance was explained, and Misa used her already watery eyes to convince the more than tipsy Matsuda that no, nothing was wrong, really. She was a bit sad, but who wouldn't be? When he left, she held Tsuki close, and spent most of rest of the year lying in bed with him.

On Valentine's Day, 2011, she put on her best clothes and makeup and went to drop Tsuki off at Matsuda's house.

He only had a few years left anyway.


	14. Opposite

**Opposite**

-

_adjective: being the one of two complementary or mutually exclusive things_

-

Rem asks her, one day, what she sees in Light and at first Misa babbles like normal- something about his hair, his eyes, the way he so earnestly describes his perfect world and how they will one day rule it together, beautiful and wonderful and eternal.

Then Rem interrupts, and it's so uncharacteristic she actually stops to hear the Shinigami out. She asks what she sees in Light, not his words- what lies beneath the eyes and the hair and the captivating words, and Misa has no answer. Then Rem begins to talk again, telling Misa about the one she loves, how that being is the warmth to her cold, the sparkle to her dullness, the Beauty to her... well, her Beast. Misa is enchanted. Maybe it was the fairytale mention that drew her in, maybe it was this perfect vision of opposites and the way they came together to work in perfect harmony.

The spell is broken, though, when Rem refuses to give a name.

-


End file.
